2:43 AM
by chibitalex
Summary: In the midst of WWII, Arthur has had problems sleeping. Alfred has also been assigned to sleep in the same tent as him. Written for the USxUK Short Story Anthology over at the LiveJournal community.


Arthur opened his eyes.

He didn't even need to look at the clock to know what time it was. 2:43 AM, just the same as every other night for the past two months.

He wasn't sleep, how could he? At that moment, his people were lying awake in their beds, huddling in fear of another bombing. There were widows weeping at this very moment, and he could _feel _their pain sinking deep into him.

The wind whistled outside. If he listened closely, he could swear that the cries of the dying could still be heard from the day's battle. How many humans had died during this battle? And what about the next?

The thin blanket suddenly felt very restricting. Shoving it off him, he shivered at the rush of cool air and coughed as a cloud of dust came sputtering up.

A few feet away from him, his tent mate stirred and let out a soft snore as he rolled over and made himself more comfortable on his two pillows. Arthur looked on at him in disdain.

He had managed to get two pillows, when absolutely none of his men received any. At this point, a pillow was a luxury, and the man had the nerve to just lie there with two, as if it was nothing special. Blissful ignorance, one would call it. Arthur scowled.

Yet, the man remained asleep and the Englishman remained awake. He sighed. There was really only one thing at this point that even had the slightest hope of calming him down enough to get back to sleep. Near boiling water with dark leaves and spices steeped to a dark mixture. It wasn't nearly as good as the tea before the rations, of course. Arthur found it to be much too bitter for his liking, and that was certainly saying something. But in the end, it was still tea- and if only for that, he embraced it.

It had helped him for the past two months. Perhaps it was simply that it gave his mind something else to focus on.

Arthur stood up slowly, as to not wake his tent mate. Briefly, he debated tiptoeing the distance before deciding against it and walking towards the tent opening at a brisk pace. There was a sound of fabric shifting behind him. Dammit. Perhaps he should have tiptoed after all.

"Where are you going?"

Arthur froze at the sleep-laced voice behind him. He could practically feel the other's gaze of disapproval pierce him straight in the back.

"Loo."

"Bullshit. You're telling me that you've had to take a piss for the past week and a half at exactly the same time?" Alfred asked coolly. "I've seen you get up this late for the entire time we've been here, y'know."

"Perhaps you have," He glared at him over his shoulder. "But in the end, this is absolutely none of your business, so I suggest you don't interfere and instead go back to sleep."

The American stared him down with equal intensity. "Look, I'm just tryin' to be nice here, Arthur. I don't have to take this crap."

"Don't call me by that name," He snapped. "You may refer to me as England, and England alone."

There was no response.

A lump formed at the bottom of Arthur's stomach and stayed there. Perhaps he had been too hard on him. Clearing his throat, he moved over to sit down atop the mattress of his once more, covering his legs with the blanket.

"I… ah," He began. "I apologise. That was uncalled for."

An owl hooted outside.

There was a brief pause before Alfred sighed and turned over to face him. "Yeah. 'S no problem. I get it. It might have been too much to ask, anyway. You know- Asking you to act civil towards me for once," Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but his response died on the tip of his tongue as the other's grin betrayed his words.

There was something intoxicating about that smile. And about the American himself, though perhaps it was only due to him being the one ray of sunshine in the midst of the dead and dying. The only thing to remain a constant, never ending source of joy and happiness. Arthur himself didn't quite understand if it was a coping mechanism or simply due to naivety- but whichever it happened to be, it was comforting nonetheless.

They sat in silence.

"Y'know, it's not healthy to be waking up so often," He commented after a time.

Arthur could have laughed. Of course it wasn't, it actually happened to be very unhealthy. "I know."

"Then do you know why you keep waking up?"

Part of him wanted to snap back with a short remark, but the words stuck in his throat.

_I've never felt so powerless in my life. My citizens are dying all around me, and there's nothing I can do. I feel so utterly weak. I wish I could do something more._

"I can feel them. Dying," Arthur said softly, closing his eyes and bringing his knees up to his chest. It started out as a slight burn, when a massive amount of people die. Something that affects you in shakes and tremors from the feet to your head. But this was different, different from anything Arthur had ever experienced in the past. There were times when he couldn't sleep at all due to it. His people were being killed, and he could feel it through every step he walked and every breath he took.

"Me too. Sucks," Alfred commented nonchalantly.

The Englishman's eyes immediately snapped open in anger.

"_Sucks?_ You wouldn't even know, would you_? Do you honestly think that you can even comprehend the sort of pain everyone else is going through? _And here you are, just sitting there without a care in the world! Hell, you didn't even show up until a half a year ago," Arthur sputtered in rage. "And to think, I was foolish enough to believe you actually had some sort of brain in that thick skull of yours, but…"

Alfred's expression was unreadable as he unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, effectively cutting off Arthur's speech as his throat went dry in mortification.

"Wh… what are you…" He began, burying his face in his hands. "What in god's name are you doing?"

The other looked up at him as he shrugged one sleeve over his shoulder. "Hey, I'm not stripping just for the fun of it. Just look at me, okay?"

So Arthur did. And he nearly winced in pain himself as he saw the long, pink scar that ran halfway through his chest and cut off with stitches.

It was still fresh- only several months old, by the looks of it. Arthur gently ghosted his fingers over it and shuddered and how deep the wound appeared to be. Pressing his fingertips further down, Alfred winced slightly. And apparently, it was still sensitive as well, Arthur noted, removing the pressure.

This wasn't right. Alfred was supposed to be the one of the nations that was still a child; he wasn't supposed to understand what pain or loss felt like yet. Like a lighthouse guiding ships back from sea. And he most certainly was not supposed to be harmed or injured. He was not supposed to experience pain.

Alfred, in a way, was the one beacon of hope that the free world had left. The hope of a shining land, free with possibility and free of danger or loss.

And this injury of his had just single handedly took out the one hope they had left.

Wind swept underneath the fabric of the tent.

"Pearl Harbor?" Arthur asked, bringing his hand close to his body.

The other nodded as he pulled his shirt back on.

They sat.

"I'm scared, too."

Arthur didn't respond immediately.

"… Our governments could dissolve from this. Our people could revolt, and if that happens, what would become of us? Would we simply rot away?" He asked softly.

"If that did happen, would you want to spend your last few days suffering, or fighting for the free world as if you know you'll live forever?" Alfred responded, lying down on his mattress. "I think I know what I would pick, how about you?"

"We could die."

"Yep."

"We might very well die."

"But if I do end up dying, I don't regret anything. It's a cause worth dying for," The American said casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

The leaves blew outside.

"Y'know," He continued, hesitating for a moment. "I have two pillows over here. If you wanna come share with me, the offer's open to you."

Arthur opened his mouth to refuse, but instead found himself moving their mattresses together and pressing his head against the other's warm chest.

Alfred was right.

There was no point in regretting things. If their governments dissolved, if their people decided they'd had enough, regretting decisions they had made would do him no good. As a person, all Arthur could do was accept the repercussions and move forward. Honour those who died. Support those who lived.

And keep moving forward.

Hesitation didn't accomplish anything, after all.

Perhaps he should listen to Alfred more often.

Arthur closed his eyes.

* * *

**Wow. So, uh, firstly, let me start off by saying- I did not abandon IJI. Life happens guys, gimme a break. I promise, updates will come soon. And I'm not lying this time.**

**Alright, now onto the real message! This was written for the USxUK Short Story Anthology over at the USUK community on LiveJournal! If you haven't checked it out yet, there's 268 pages of beautifully written stories, and accompanying pieces of artwork. It's absolutely gorgeous, really, and I'd like to give a thank you to Haro for making the entire thing possible. It's over at USxUK dot LiveJournal dot com. Give it a read, and I'll see you all with my next update.**

**-chibitalex**


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